Otherwise, once they finally made it back upstairs, their midnight snack would be forgotten. They’d have far more important things to take care of first.
For a nanosecond Ally let herself imagine how much fun that would be, even considering she’d be doing it with Mitchell instead of a guy she really craved. Then she dismissed the idea. Doing it with Mitchell, when he cared and she didn’t, would be unforgivable. He deserved better than that.
----
Chapter Eight
T his is what he got for allowing himself to be sucked into unnecessary schemes like refrigerator raids. Mitch listened to the sounds of lust from the other room and tried to gain some control over his already susceptible package.
If he’d had any common sense, he would have nixed the refrigerator raid and he and Ally would be upstairs now, playing poker with matches. But no, he’d decided to go along with Ally’s wish for a middle-class experience—a midnight snack swiped secretly from the kitchen without the cook’s knowledge.
Now the cook was horizontal in the hall with the tap-dancing owner of the Top Hat, and Mitch had to carry on as if that sort of thing didn’t faze him.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Ally murmured.
“Welcome to Alaska.” Mitch tried to say it in an off-hand way, as if he found this mildly amusing instead of downright stimulating.
“Not so loud,” she whispered back. “They might hear you.”
“Are you kidding? They wouldn’t hear a full orchestra playing the ‘Eighteen-twelve Overture’ complete with cannon fire. I’m sure we could parade right through the lobby and up the stairs and they’d never notice.”
“Tell me you’re not suggesting that.”
“I’m not suggesting that.” The mental image made him cringe. “We’d both be scarred for life.”
“Probably. I can’t say, never having been in this—” She stopped speaking as Betsy screamed, “
Oh, God, I’m coming!
”
Mitchell cleared his throat. “There’s a chance that could be the grand finale.”
“We can only hope.”
But Clyde’s tempo didn’t change and Betsy tuned up again.
“That’s two,” Mitch said as Betsy announced her second Big O. “
Now
it should be over.”
“Maybe not. I think she’s been saving up.”
And sure enough, Mitch caught the unmistakable signs of Betsy working up to another climax.
“That’s three,” Ally said when the moment arrived.
About a minute later, Mitch sighed. “Four.”
Four, it turned out, was Betsy’s limit, at least for this particular coupling. Mitch clenched his jaw as they were treated to Clyde’s delayed, and definitely well-deserved, bellow of satisfaction. Then silence reigned.
Mitch was afraid to say anything, because the silence was so complete that the slightest shuffle of their feet would echo through the lodge. He hoped Betsy and Clyde hadn’t killed each other with passion. He waited, breath held, for signs that they’d recovered.
With luck they wouldn’t lie there until morning, but it was always possible. Even when they roused themselves, they’d probably crawl on hands and knees into Betsy’s red parlor. Neither of them were exactly spring chickens. Still, Mitch had to award grudging respect to Clyde’s performance, and unless Betsy had been faking, she was one hell of a woman.
Finally, signs of life issued from the lobby.
“Get off me, Clyde. I can’t breathe.”
That was greeted with more muffled mumbling.
“Yes, yes, it was terrific. You’re a stallion. Now move before I suffocate.”
Mitch smiled. Betsy might take the sex, but she wasn’t going to give her heart to the first guy who presented her with four on the floor. He had to admire her style.
After several groans and a considerable amount of thumps, rustling, and gasping, another door clicked shut.
“I think it’s safe to move.” Mitch kept his voice low.
“Okay, I’m heading out,” Ally said. “Don’t drop anything.”
“I won’t.” Mitch followed her into
For a nanosecond Ally let herself imagine how much fun that would be, even considering she’d be doing it with Mitchell instead of a guy she really craved. Then she dismissed the idea. Doing it with Mitchell, when he cared and she didn’t, would be unforgivable. He deserved better than that.
----
Chapter Eight
T his is what he got for allowing himself to be sucked into unnecessary schemes like refrigerator raids. Mitch listened to the sounds of lust from the other room and tried to gain some control over his already susceptible package.
If he’d had any common sense, he would have nixed the refrigerator raid and he and Ally would be upstairs now, playing poker with matches. But no, he’d decided to go along with Ally’s wish for a middle-class experience—a midnight snack swiped secretly from the kitchen without the cook’s knowledge.
Now the cook was horizontal in the hall with the tap-dancing owner of the Top Hat, and Mitch had to carry on as if that sort of thing didn’t faze him.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Ally murmured.
“Welcome to Alaska.” Mitch tried to say it in an off-hand way, as if he found this mildly amusing instead of downright stimulating.
“Not so loud,” she whispered back. “They might hear you.”
“Are you kidding? They wouldn’t hear a full orchestra playing the ‘Eighteen-twelve Overture’ complete with cannon fire. I’m sure we could parade right through the lobby and up the stairs and they’d never notice.”
“Tell me you’re not suggesting that.”
“I’m not suggesting that.” The mental image made him cringe. “We’d both be scarred for life.”
“Probably. I can’t say, never having been in this—” She stopped speaking as Betsy screamed, “
Oh, God, I’m coming!
”
Mitchell cleared his throat. “There’s a chance that could be the grand finale.”
“We can only hope.”
But Clyde’s tempo didn’t change and Betsy tuned up again.
“That’s two,” Mitch said as Betsy announced her second Big O. “
Now
it should be over.”
“Maybe not. I think she’s been saving up.”
And sure enough, Mitch caught the unmistakable signs of Betsy working up to another climax.
“That’s three,” Ally said when the moment arrived.
About a minute later, Mitch sighed. “Four.”
Four, it turned out, was Betsy’s limit, at least for this particular coupling. Mitch clenched his jaw as they were treated to Clyde’s delayed, and definitely well-deserved, bellow of satisfaction. Then silence reigned.
Mitch was afraid to say anything, because the silence was so complete that the slightest shuffle of their feet would echo through the lodge. He hoped Betsy and Clyde hadn’t killed each other with passion. He waited, breath held, for signs that they’d recovered.
With luck they wouldn’t lie there until morning, but it was always possible. Even when they roused themselves, they’d probably crawl on hands and knees into Betsy’s red parlor. Neither of them were exactly spring chickens. Still, Mitch had to award grudging respect to Clyde’s performance, and unless Betsy had been faking, she was one hell of a woman.
Finally, signs of life issued from the lobby.
“Get off me, Clyde. I can’t breathe.”
That was greeted with more muffled mumbling.
“Yes, yes, it was terrific. You’re a stallion. Now move before I suffocate.”
Mitch smiled. Betsy might take the sex, but she wasn’t going to give her heart to the first guy who presented her with four on the floor. He had to admire her style.
After several groans and a considerable amount of thumps, rustling, and gasping, another door clicked shut.
“I think it’s safe to move.” Mitch kept his voice low.
“Okay, I’m heading out,” Ally said. “Don’t drop anything.”
“I won’t.” Mitch followed her into
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